Uttering a shrill whoop of joy, Don Hale sent the Nieuport upward.
No music composed by the world’s greatest masters could have sounded more sweet to him than the steady reverberations of the engine. It still seemed unbelievable—something that could not be. All the joys of a man who, having given up hope, is unexpectedly granted a reprieve were his, as the airplane buffeted its way against the teeth of the ever-freshening wind.
The disappointed Germans immediately sprang to the attack, and the little Nieuport was running the gauntlet of rifle and revolver fire. Fast as it flew, the bullets sped faster, and though the combat pilot could not hear their wicked hum and zip he knew that leaden missiles were flashing all about him, for several holes again appeared in the upper plane.
“Can I make it! Can I make it!” he kept repeating.
Sometimes that wild race against such heavy odds seemed hopeless. He dared not rise too high, for that would give the antiaircraft gunners a chance of bringing him crashing down to the earth. True it was, that many of the infantrymen seemed so paralyzed with astonishment at the sight of a wildly-speeding Nieuport right over their heads as to forget to fire.
As moment succeeded moment, and Don Hale remained unscathed, he peered cautiously over the side of the cockpit. Now he was flying above a little village fairly swarming with the troops of the Kaiser. He could see the heavy camions rumbling through the streets and all the sights typical of military operations which he had observed on the opposite side of the trenches.
The thumping of his heart having in a measure subsided, and the chilling tremors almost disappeared, he found this flying over the enemy’s country, in spite of the bullets that continually sped toward him, a strangely fascinating game.
The little village was presently left far to the rear, and the speeding plane was again over the open country, with its whitish roads and green fields dotted here and there with farms and houses.
All at once he saw something in the distance which caused him to turn his plane in a northwesterly direction. It was a faintish, elongated yellowish spot suggestive of a giant caterpillar, lying close to the ground.
“A balloon—an observation balloon which has just been pulled down!” cried Don Hale to himself. “I’ll get a closer look at it. Great Scott!”